


Chicken Noodle Stims for the Soul

by AppalachianApologies



Series: Appalachian's 2020 Whumptober [1]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Autism, Autism Spectrum, Autistic Meltdown, Autistic Spencer Reid, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Spencer Reid, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Spencer Reid Whump, Spencer Whump, Spencer is A u t i s t i c, Waking up Restrained, Whumptober 2020, but almost, but it's a lowkey kidnapping, but there's happy comfort :), by ropes, kind of, not quite, the more important part is the fact that he's bound, with ropes haha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:41:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26751523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppalachianApologies/pseuds/AppalachianApologies
Summary: The texture of old ropes isn't one of Spencer's favorites. It also doesn't help that he wakes up completely bound in an unfamiliar place with the plastic button of his shirt rubbing against his arm. Can't someone else get kidnapped for once?Day 1: Waking up Restrained
Series: Appalachian's 2020 Whumptober [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948174
Comments: 28
Kudos: 288
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Chicken Noodle Stims for the Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Hi! Long time no see! (ok it's been like half a month but still I missed you all :D)
> 
> I'm attempting whumptober this year!! *confetti* And as of right now, I have six prompts done, not necessarily in order, so if everything goes wrong, you guys will get at least six prompts lol.
> 
> Uhhhhhhh yeah that's the tea, basically Spencer is autistic as h e c k, and I'm autistic as h e c k, so this was somehow born xD
> 
> Enjoy!

Saying that Spencer woke up uncomfortable is an understatement.

He wakes on a metal slab, arms bound above his head, about shoulder width apart. Mirrored, Spencer’s legs are straightened all the way out, ankles bound apart from one another. He’s restrained with ropes, and after only a few seconds, Spencer’s limbs are itching.

Coarse ropes rub against his ankles and wrists every time he moves, causing him to squirm away, which just starts the vicious cycle once again. With a jolt of fear, Spencer makes the connection that his kidnapper has taken away his shoes and socks, as well as his sweater. To make things even worse, they’ve also rolled up his sleeves, and Spencer can feel the plastic cuff button make an indent on his skin.

He wants to scream.

Instead, Spencer takes one, two, three, four deep breaths, and thinks back to the unsub’s profile. A sexual sociopath, most likely a white male, had been taking other young white males, raping them, cutting their bodies, before leaving their naked bodies in public places.

Spencer shudders.

The ropes rub against his skin again, and it feels like fire. He wants to move, he  _ has _ to move, but Spencer’s completely trapped. He can lift up his hips, but that doesn’t do him any good, and he doesn’t want the unsub to be getting any ideas.

Spencer tries to keep himself calm by huffing out breaths every four seconds, enjoying the rhythm that it brings. Unfortunately, the pseudo calm is short lived.

Through a couple of walls, Spencer can hear pleading.

He can hear a man begging, yelling, and screaming for help. Gritting his teeth, Spencer pulls at his bonds as hard as he can, feeling the strain at his shoulders. He yanks his wrists forwards and back, side to side, but he still can’t get any slack. He can feel the fibers of the rope digging into the fragile skin of his wrist, but the other man’s screams block it out a second later.

He’s an FBI agent, he should be helping! Clenching his teeth and locking his jaw, Spencer pulls as hard as he can, trying to slip his hands from the restraints, but nothing works. The unsub had tied him up so tightly, Spencer’s surprised he hasn’t lost feeling in his wrists already.

Spencer tries the same on his ankles, but he has even less luck with that. Through the walls, Spencer can hear the man scream louder and louder, before becoming terrifyingly silent a mere second later.

Between the sudden change in noise level, the scratchiness of Spencer’s bonds, and that plastic button on his cuff which is  _ still _ digging into his forearm, Spencer can feel his control slipping. 

He starts thrashing, the only thing in his mind, is that he  _ has _ to get the plastic button away from his skin. Spencer can feel it burning into his arm, and he wants it off. He wants it  _ off _ . He needs it off now!

It’s all Spencer can think about. The ropes tear holes in his skin, but he’d do anything to move that plastic button, even if it meant chopping off an arm. Tears of frustration leak out, and the cold liquid just adds to Spencer’s sensory hell. He can feel the salty water run down his face sideways, all the way to his ear, and that’s the final straw.

Stuck on a metal slab with too many feelings, Spencer brings his head up, and then lets gravity bring it back down on the aluminum. Up, down, up, down, up, down, up, down, up, down.

Compared to everything else, the banging is absolutely euphoric, and for the first time since Spencer woke up, he can finally think. Part of his brain finds it funny, the juxtaposition between giving himself possible head trauma and being able to think clearly, but he doesn’t care too much about it.

The soothing bangs give Spencer the opportunity to catalogue the rest of his body.The side of his head aches with every hit, so Spencer assumes that he was blitz attacked. If he focuses really hard, he can tell that there’s a bit of dried blood pulling at his skin, but the thought makes him shudder.

His ankles and wrists feel like they’re burning, and Spencer’s pretty sure there are splinters of coarse rope in his skin. His blood curdles with the thought of blood borne pathogens, so he quickly tries to expel the thought. However the thought has already carved it’s way into his head, and he can’t get it out now.

Spencer rises his head farther up, and works with gravity to slam it down even harder than he was before. Each hit soothes Spencer a little more, but as soon as he starts getting ahead of his thoughts, the door to his own private hell opens.

The smell of blood and sex plague Spencer’s nose, and everything continues to go downhill for him. He grinds his molars and whines, but the smell is horrifying, and there isn’t anything he can do to stop it.

A man begins speaking to Spencer, but he just  _ can’t _ handle the thought of having to decipher someone else’s words. 

“Jesus, didn’t realize the FBI takes freaks like you,” The unsub murmurs. The sound is what bothers Spencer the most. The words themselves have little effect on the young agent. He’s heard it all before, even from other employees in the force.

“Hold still,” The unsub instructs with a wicked grin, “Or this part isn’t going to be as much fun.” He cackles, and Spencer flinches away as far as his bonds will let him.

A cold finger dances across his torso, and Spencer screams. It’s by far the  _ worst _ thing he’s ever felt, and he would do anything,  _ anything, _ to get away from it. Tears streaming out, Spencer brings his head up even further, putting more strain on his shoulder by doing so. He takes just as much force to slam it down, hoping that the dizzy stars will help him escape from this hell.

Writhing on the table, Spencer can feel the ropes continue to dig into his skin, creating an even worse scenario for him. The vicious cycle is even worse now, and the unsub is adamant on talking to him every second.

A terrible  _ bang! _ echos through the hallway into the rooms, and a whimper escapes Spencer. 

The man yells profanities, and all Spencer thinks about is how he wants  _ it to stop. _

Hands are on him, on his  _ neck _ , and Spencer’s completely powerless to do anything but bring his head up, and down, and up, and down, and up and then suddenly when he brings it down he doesn't get the same satisfying pain as he was getting before.

A cry escapes Spencer’s mouth, and he tries to bring his head down again, but it still doesn’t get the same  _ crunch _ as before, and he feels like he must be dying. Every time he brings it down, there’s something cushioning the back of his head, and he loses a little bit of himself each time.

He feels a hand on his ankle, and chokes out a scream, jerking away. In what must’ve been a gift from a god, the hand immediately withdraws, giving Spencer the tiniest bit of relief.

A voice cuts through. “Spencer.”

“Stop, stop,” He whimpers, bringing his head down, but he still can’t get the same solid hit in.

“Spencer,” The calm voice says again, “You’re hurting your head, okay? I’m not going to move my hand.”

Spencer cries out, “Please,” But even he doesn’t know what he’s begging for.

“Morgan, can I have your jacket?”

Morgan is here? Spencer tries to curl in on himself, knowing that Morgan will understand, Morgan will always understand, but the ropes are still there.

He stutters out another whimper, and hits his head down, again, and again, and again, and again, and then suddenly the hand is replaced with a piece of fabric, but that’s still  _ not helping. _ Spencer  _ needs _ the solid surface, he  _ needs _ it.

“Can you cut him out?”

“He’s moving around too much, I’ll end up cutting him.”

Spencer hates everything around him. Everything is too loud and too cold and too hard and too  _ everything, _ and he freely cries when he still feels the plastic button on his skin because he just wants it  _ off. _

“Reid,” Morgan’s voice gets through Spencer’s head. “Reid, c’mon kid, you’ve gotta stop moving for just a second, okay? Just so we can get you free,”

Spencer understands that, he really does, but he  _ can’t _ and  _ they  _ don’t understand him. His shoulders ache from banging his head, and the ends of his limbs burn from the ropes, and there’s nothing more he’d rather do than stop moving and curl up in a ball, but he  _ can’t,  _ and they don’t understand!

More fabric is shoved underneath his head, and logically he knows that it’ll help, but his brain doesn’t feel like working on logic right now.

New footsteps join the cacophony of the room, as well as a new voice, seconds later.

“Hey, Spencer,” A quiet voice says. Finally,  _ finally _ a quiet voice, because as quiet as Hotch and Morgan think they can be, they can never manage it.

“Please,” Spencer pleads again, and he  _ still _ doesn’t know what he’s asking for.

He hears a soft sigh, before, “Let’s take some deep breaths, Spencer,”

“Can’t,”

“Yes you can,” Comes the quiet reply, “We’re gonna go real slow, okay? Just follow me.” Blake takes a dramatic deep breath, while counting all the way to six. She then exhales, continuing her counting.

To an outsider, it would look like Spencer’s just ignoring her, but Blake knows that he’s doing his best to follow her. She continues breathing and counting, and after Spencer is able to catch on after a few minutes, she slows down the counting ever so slightly.

After about fifteen minutes of simply breathing, Spencer’s head slows down, before coming to stop, eliciting a relieved exhale from Hotch and Morgan.

“We have to get you out of the ropes,” Blake says softly, and Spencer does his best to nod. Turning to Morgan, she requests, “Can I have the knife?” Without hesitation, the younger man gives her the pocket knife.

Spencer takes a few steady breaths, but otherwise shows no indication that he’s listening. He doesn’t need to show anything though, Blake understands that he’s hearing everything going on.

“Spencer, I’m going to put my hand on your ankle, okay?” Seeing his wild eyes, she soothes, “I’ll count down, don’t worry,” Holding the knife in her right hand she begins, “One, two, and three.”

Although initially flinching away from the touch, Blake puts a good amount of pressure on his ankle, and Spencer quickly finds himself grounding himself with it.

The second the rope is cut, Spencer pulls his leg into his body, preparing to shield it from anything else.

Smiling, Blake explains, “I’m going to do your left side now, okay? I’m going to touch you on the count of three: One, two, and three.” 

The process is repeated, and with both legs now free, Spencer can scoot up closer to his hands, relieving some of the terrible pressure from his shoulder sockets.

“Are you ready for your hands, now?”

Spencer nods.

“Okay. I’m going to touch your right arm on the count of three: One, two, and three.”

Feeling his muscles tense up from the contact, Spencer wills himself to relax and lean into the touch. It works to a degree, but as soon as Blake releases him, he immediately draws his hand to his chest, cradling it near his heart.

“Left side now,” Blake declares. “One, two, and three.” She’s able to get off the ropes faster than his other limbs, and not even a second later, Spencer is scrambling to sit up, hunched over both of his arms. The plastic button isn’t touching his skin anymore.

The plastic button isn’t pressing against his skin anymore!

Spencer has both of his legs bent up towards his body, curling himself into a human ball. His leg can’t bounce in this position, but that’s okay, because he can finally,  _ finally _ rock.

The relief is nearly instantaneous. After rocking back and forth only a few times, Spencer can breathe for the first time since he woke up. Closing his eyes and wrapping his hands around his thighs, Spencer continues to rock back, and forth, and back, and forth, and back, and forth, and now  _ everything _ is finally  _ okay. _

Everytime his thoughts stray back to sociopathic unsubs, Spencer just hums and continues rocking. He can hear Hotch tell Blake that he and Morgan will wait at the SUV, but Spencer doesn’t have enough extra brain power to care. 

“We can stay here as long as you need,” Blake says quietly. “You just let me know when you’re ready, okay?”

Spencer makes a noise of approval, and everything is quiet, save for the faint echoes of footsteps and car doors.

After many minutes go by, and Spencer is comfortably rocking in silence, Blake asks softly, “How bad is your head hurting?”

All she gets is a shrug in response.

“Can I look at your wrists or ankles?” She tries, “They don’t look pretty good.”

After another shrug, Blake sighs.

“Can we get you checked out by some EMTs? I don’t want them to leave without looking at you,” At Spencer’s worried glance, she quickly adds, “We won’t have to go to the hospital, okay? Just to the ambulance.”

Spencer blinks, thinking on it, before agreeing with a shallow nod.

“Alright,” Blake says with a smile. “Let’s go.”

Spencer awkwardly stumbles to the paramedics, but Blake doesn’t put a steady hand on his shoulder, knowing how close he is to another meltdown.

Cold tweezers poke and pinch at Spencer’s slightly bloody skin, pulling out rope splinter after rope splinter, and it isn’t long until Spencer’s cringing away.

By the time the EMTs are done bandaging his wrists and ankles, Spencer has his eyes clenched shut, and his molars are grinding again.

Blake stands to talk to Hotch, who’s currently giving her a look from across a row of police cars, but a hand on her sleeve stops her. Pulling herself out of the memories of Ethan, she looks down to find Spencer holding on.

“Do you want me to stay?”

A nod.

“Okay.” She agrees softly, sitting down next to him. “I won’t leave until you’re ready.” Hotch seems to understand, because he turns back to Morgan, talking too far away for Blake to understand. Turning back to Spencer, Blake muses, “I’m sorry this happened to you, Spencer.”

He replies by holding on tighter to her arm.

“Can I hug you?”

After a pause of consideration, Spencer nods.

Blake hugs him, letting Spencer tuck his head underneath her chin. She holds on tight, giving him the pressure she knows he needs.

“You’re okay now,” Blake promises. “I won’t let anything else happen to you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed day 1 of Whumptober! What are your thoughts? What are you most excited for? I'd love to hear it! :D Come chat with me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/appalachianapologies) (AppalachianApologies) if you want! I'm always down to meet new people, and my asks (including anon) and dm's are always open!!
> 
> I love you all very much, and I hope you all are doing okay. If you find yourself in a bad or scary situation, here are some hotlines (unfortunately I only have American ones to give you)
> 
> National Suicide Hotline: 1-800-273-8255  
> National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1-800-656-4673  
> National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-7233
> 
> If you don't live in America and need someone to talk to, here's a list of [international hotlines.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_suicide_crisis_lines)  
> You are not alone <3
> 
> Much love to all of you, and take care until tomorrow!! <3


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